


Dancing With The Ghost of You

by Voidcoffee



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Dancing, I hope this makes you feel things, Lonely night, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidcoffee/pseuds/Voidcoffee
Summary: Juno Steel's having another one of those nights, and who better to keep him company than the ghost of what could have been.(Recommended listen: Caro Emerald - Ghost of You)





	Dancing With The Ghost of You

It’s a Saturday night. The clock’s negated to tell the time, which is only for the best, because this is one of those cases where ignorance is bliss. At least, that’s what it is for a drunk and lonely PI in Hyperion City. 

 

Juno Steel’s leaning on the bar, purposely ignoring the clock behind it whilst he slams down a whiskey and, in the same breath, orders another one. Next to him, a woman takes a long drag from a cigarette and lets the smoke escape her mouth and nose like a deadly snake. He rubs his eyes and mutters something about someone or other. The next whiskey comes and he slams it down ever quicker than the last one. Wants to order another one, but suddenly the barkeep is gone. Damnit, how could such a tall person be gone so quickly. Or did the drink take longer to drink than he thought it did? Could check the clock, but nah. No guarantee it’s even set to Martian time in a music-too-loud, cash-only, bar such as this one. The type of bar where the only ID you need is the phrase “I’m not a cop”. So much for another drink then. 

 

Lacking a drink to sullenly stare into, Juno decides to stare into the crowd instead. Lots of couples. Since when’s a bar a couples place. Goddamnit, I come here nearly every night; when did this happen? They’re all dancing as well. Dunno how they manage it, considering the music sounds like it’s made by a sewer rabbit mauling a computer. A broken computer is the only computer sound he’s familiar with anyways. He can almost hear his secretary Rita’s voice in his ear.    
“Come on now, mistah Steel! Get out there and do happy stuff! Watching you sitting in that dark office all day makes me wanna watch that one straight-to-tv movie from like 10 years ago. Ya know the one, mistah Steel? With the pony and the neurologist and th-”   
  


Dancing is something happy people do, right? Yeah, sure. They all seem happy. Except for that girl over there. She looks like she’d rather be doing other stuff. Guess I’m not the only one after all.

 

When’s the last time I danced anyways, Juno wonders. With-? No, it can’t have been 15 years. No way. Definitely not with any of my latest adventures, that’s for sure. I don’t dance around people whose name I don’t wanna remember the next day.   
He knows the answer. It’s like eating your favourite meal at your favourite restaurant, but really hating it, because someone hired a band of bagpipe players to play at that restaurant and you hate bagpipes and you just wanted a nice and comfortable evening out, but now you’re sitting there, sticking your knife angrily into the food until it scratches the plate and you hear that horrible sound and you just hate yourself a little more with every second that passes by, because really it’s not them and it’s not the circumstance, it’s just you, but you don’t have the guts to admit that. Yeah, it’s exactly like that.    
  


Peter Nureyev was exactly like that.

 

All of the sudden, another drink klings down behind Juno. He hears a faint voice mumble: “it’s on the house”. He turns around but the barkeep is gone again. Assuming, of course, it was the barkeep. Eh, who else would it be? He may have made a lot of enemies, but none of them such a killjoy to poison his drink at a bar. He shrugs and downs it in one go. Nobody dances sober after all. He stretches his back, cracks his neck, shakes his head free from Peter Nureyev and walks to the dancefloor.

 

Of course, then the song changes, and it seems Peter just kicked down the door and enters the shitshow that is Juno’s mind. Juno gasps and pauses for a second, one of his feet hovering above the too-bright too-happy neon tiles of the dancefloor. Then he unpauses and takes in the sweaty, alcoholic stench surrounding him. Actually, he’s not quite sure if it’s around him, or if it is him.

 

He elbows his way through the crowd (“Give a lady some space!”) and finds a quiet space at the back, where the speakers tune out the sounds of the rest of Mars. The song. The song is the one Peter and he danced to. The only song they’d ever gotten to dance to. Juno could swear he could feel Peter’s hands on his hips right now, leading him in a slow dance that felt like the sun meeting the horizon.

 

Juno closes his eyes, feels Peter’s hand on his hips, his feet next to his, and dances. He dances with the ghost of what could have been. The corners of his mouth rise up, and his eyes twitch. His hands shake, but his feet remain steady. His back feels steady, but his knees weak. Out his mouth escapes a short breath. No matter what happens, no matter how many tears flow over his cheeks, he does not stop dancing.

 

And somewhere, halfway across the galaxy, a tall thief with unforgettable cologne does the same thing.  


End file.
